


the Orchestra verse

by Gigs



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-18
Updated: 2016-02-19
Packaged: 2018-05-21 11:41:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6050266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gigs/pseuds/Gigs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The story of how Geoff started the Austin Chamber Orchestra and lived to never regret it or the romantic and sexual interludes of professional musicians as they try to remember they’re there to play instruments, not each other verse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

* * *

 

It all started when Geoff lost his job as conductor of the Austin Symphony Youth Orchestra through some means that involved an irate parent, improper use of a violin bow and a sobbing 13 year old. It’s a hilarious story he always assured people. He sulked for a week straight until the idea of starting his own orchestra came to him in a blur of whisky amidst his vows to never work with children again.

 _He was a conductor._ (It was a slow idea, a reluctant fanciful epiphany.) Followed soon by the reality check of _conductor without an orchestra._ His brain was only drunken and wistful at first then...it began to work. 

Almost all his friends were musicians, talented and more importantly invariably out of work and therefore (most importantly of all) desperate. 

They started small, barely enough of them to round out to a sextet at first with Burnie on violin and Gus, Matt and whoever else they cajoled into balancing paid gigs with street parties, council functions and arts fairs. 

The arts fairs were simultaneously the best and worst of any work they did. They were the worst because they paid jack shit. 

They were the best because that was where Geoff met Griffon. 

The first wedding gig they did was Geoff’s own. Granted he paid them in food but it counted. 

It came with the harmonious addition of a 15 year old protegee from Britain in Texas for a classical convention who’d hoped to meet Geoff at the University. His explosive conducting style apparently was a topic of conventional discussion, and so the kid, disappointed Geoff was a no-show (thanks parents of the board who had him blacklisted from the University) had somehow puppy-eyed his way into Geoff’s wedding, flute case in hand, to tell Geoff he needed to get a move on with starting his own orchestra. 

 _Quote_ - ‘he’ Gavin, the flute wunderkind, ‘wouldn’t be allowed to come play with the famous Conductor Ramsey if all Conductor Ramsey was doing was playing ‘bloody weddings and school fetes!’

Geoff spent an hour of his own wedding talking about composition to some British kid who had the balls to tell him to get a move on. Ridiculous and yet...

Eight years later, Geoff found himself on a glorious Thursday afternoon watching another rehearsal for Peter and the Wolf devolve into mild chaos as his first flautist and first cellist launched into one of their now regularly arguments-come-flirting sessions. He rolled his eyes skyward willing himself not to laugh and lose all semblance of seniority as the Austin Chamber Orchestra, _his_  orchestra downed instruments to watch and inevitably take sides. 

He held out until the cellist, Haywood, snapped something particularly barbed that had the rest of the orchestra collapsing about their sheet music while the flautist, true to his role as the bird, squawked in indignation. 

Geoff wheezed on his podium, glad that despite everything, he was somehow still working with children.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ‘I don’t like you’ Gavin gasped as Ryan mouthed at his neck.
> 
> ‘You know I’m really starting to get that vibe’ Ryan gasped thrusting a little harder against Gavin. He laughed and let his head fall back against the wall as the delicious slide and pull him and Ryan seemed to keep finding themselves in took over.

 ‘I don’t like you’ Gavin gasped as Ryan mouthed at his neck.

‘You know I’m really starting to get that vibe’ Ryan gasped thrusting a little harder against Gavin. He laughed and let his head fall back against the wall as the delicious slide and pull him and Ryan seemed to keep finding themselves in took over.

He couldn’t remember the last time he went into the equipment room for a new polish cloth or silver spray, more used to now having the shelving dig into his spine or the rub of the thin carpet under his knees as Ryan inevitably followed him in.

Ryan had repeatedly impressed upon him that the promise of blowjobs by a trained flautist was a lot less sexy when that flautist has your balls in his hand and threatens to yank them off if you fuck his mouth too hard because that’ll throw off his playing. Gavin had responded that he could just…not suck Ryan off if Ryan hated it so much and Ryan quickly acquiesced.

 It would be fine.

They kept it professional in the pit or rather they don’t. They bicker, they point out each other’s flaws loudly, and they are responsible for at least an hour of wasted rehearsal time a week due to some prank or stupid argument that means nothing to either of them. It’s the to-and-fro they enjoy; the fight more than who emerged the victor.

The rest of the orchestra aren’t completely innocent in their own on-goings, they delight in goading each other as well as picking sides as their Principal Flute and Cello fall into discord.

It was the time of second resurfacing of the asinine coin debate that Lindsay, unflappable jovial Lindsay – Second string, let out a scream and knocks over Ryan’s music stand.

‘Fuck me, just bone already!’ she groaned before marching out of rehearsal. The stunned moments that followed were broken by Geoff giving a rapturous sigh as he cupped his hands to his ears.

‘Blessed silence while the conductor is speaking, how I have missed it.’ He said wiping away a fake tear.

They agreed then to not screw around in the concert hall or its various nooks and crannies. Gavin lobbies that the car park and therefore the backseat of Ryan’s car are fair ground but Ryan’s cello has pride of place there and Gavin concedes that argument with surprising grace.

When it moves out of the practice hall it becomes dangerous.

Three paces from their unknowing co-workers it was a game, it had a frisson of excitement and danger that worked to relieve tension they inspired in each other.

Then it changed.

It became even more of a pattern, Ryan following Gavin home after practice, delighting in idling in his drive while Gavin took the bus. Or showing up when one of them sent the first ‘are you / am I coming over or what?’  text.

Initially it’s great. They can do more and take longer doing it. Their rule of ‘first to get his breath back leaves’ seems foolish when they’re in a bed instead of a supply cupboard.

They kiss a lot. A lot. Not just as a place holder for their mouths while they jerked each other off but actual kissing. They kiss before not just as a prelude to someone going to their knees. During as Ryan fingers Gavin open in time to his tongue swallowing his gasps or when Gavin makes Ryan groan into his mouth with a slow grind of his hips. After, as they’re cooling off or figuring out if they’re good to go again; more gentle and amid easy conversation.   

Maybe it actually changed slowly but the realisation of that gradual change came the way it always does, all at once in a moment that’s already happened countless times.

They had a rare weekend off, Geoff had an anniversary and kindly gave them the weekend free from rehearsal to do as he did and get some. The orchestra went out ensemble, a few drinks before drifting apart to enjoy their weekends apart from each other.

Tequila and Michael Jones are a terrifying foe for even the most valiant brand of sobriety and so Ryan drove a drunken Gavin home.

He put Gavin to bed and let himself be pulled down to sleep as well. This was nothing new on a Friday night. He’d get a sorry-I-called-you-over-to-hook-up-and-then-passed-out blowjob in the morning and then after some carbs, grease and late morning television they’d get increasingly handsy and go back to bed. Hung-over Gavin loved to get fucked on his back, he was pliant and tender and begging, he was, at least in this respect, predictable. That’s why Ryan stayed.

True to form Ryan woke to an un-sensual elbow in the kidney, grunted sleepily as his boxers were clumsily yanked down and received murmured sorry to the head of his dick followed by a full wet apology.

Then he just…didn’t leave and suddenly it was a Sunday afternoon, the last edgings of dusk filtering in and Gavin was underneath him open and gasping as he sank into him again, orange sunlight clinging to him as it slipped away beyond the horizon of the window sill.

When they were bathed in soft moonlight, Gavin played scales on Ryan’s ribs in some naked facsimile of ‘guess that concerto’ the hot drag and tap of his fingers almost a touch too distracting for pure relaxation. Ryan guessed lazily, not always correctly and Gavin smiled, equally lazily and danced his hands downwards to stroke and tease. It was somewhere in that moment that Ryan realised he didn’t actually mind whether they had sex again, providing Gavin stayed near him.

It was in that moment that Ryan realised he was fucked.


End file.
